Sunday Forgotten Realms

A campaign inspired by LFR

Zombies, and Ogres, and Skulls. Oh, My!

Having discovered, quite by accident, a magical stone disk that seems to teleport creatures to an extra-dimensional plane of nothingness, the Sons of Flame briefly discuss attempting to take it with them. Sidrynn vetoes any further effort on the matter, insisting they focus their strength on overcoming the challenges of the Ogre King’s barrow before they look to other side projects.

Resolving themselves to reality, the rest of the group ceases that discussion and sets their thoughts to what might be coming next.

“They were trying to open that door for a reason,” Ignis points out. “Probably to alert others we were coming.”

“We likely stopped that from happening,” comes Van’s response. The rest think, if his metal face was capable of minute expressions, the iron golem would be smirking as he speaks.

“Okay, so let’s tread lightly from here,” Sidrynn insists, signalling for Llewellyn to open the northern doors.

Before them is revealed a ten-foot wide flagstone hallway that abruptly drops away into a set of stairs at the end. The putrid scent of death wafts from a closed portcullis on the west side of the passage, and a closed stone door seals a chamber on the east. Llewellyn is barely able to suppress a groan of dismay as the reality of the upcoming fight sets in.

“We should try to sneak through here,” he whispers. “Maybe the undead haven’t noticed us yet.”

It’s My Party, and I’ll Die if I Want To

It is 1479 DR, the Year of the Ageless One, and it is Llewellyn’s eighteenth birthday! After months of preparation, you have all managed to pull off a spectacular surprise party, welcoming your friend into the ranks of adulthood. Much of the town has gathered with you in the South Square for the festivities, and the celebration has been going on for some time already. The sun has passed its zenith, though there are still many more hours left in the day, and no one is showing signs of leaving yet.

The southern wall suddenly explodes, sending rubble and dust everywhere. Townspeople begin to scream and flee as goblins race forward through the hole in the wall. In the shock of the explosion, the small attackers are able to fill the southern part of South Square in a matter of moments. As they rush in, two fleeing citizens are cut down.

Standing in the debris of the blasted wall, a shamanistic goblin commands his troupes, erecting a cloud of negative energy in front of Garwan’s Curiosities, obscuring the whole street. The two strongest goblin warriors rush towards the door of the shop, shouting back and forth in their native tongue. Meanwhile, the lesser goblinoids engage the Sons of Flame in combat, as the rest of the town has fled in fear.

Hacking at the door, it takes four goblins to finally break into Garwan’s Curiosities. One of the two elite warriors dashes inside and grabs a dagger from inside a box on Garwan’s front display table.

Try as they might, the invading goblins are unable to leave Loudwater’s town limits alive, and the dagger is recovered from a toasted goblin’s corpse in the rubble of the southern wall. A letter is also found on the corpse of the shaman, but as it is written in Goblin, none of the Sons of Flame are able to read it.

Garwan then emerges from the back of his shop and thanks the group for preventing more damage to his store. He offers the recovered dagger, more of a leather wrapped horn than anything, to them as thanks.

“If’n ye like that,” he says, “I know where ye c’n git more. It was recover’d from th’ Barrow of th’ Ogre King by ol’ Curuvar, an’ he sez there be more where it came from. I’d go m’ownself, but me adventurin’ days’re over.”

The group asks if he can read the letter found on the goblin shaman, but he refers them to Curuvar. Sidrynn offers to pay the ten gold for ritual components if Llewellyn would cast an amanuensis ritual to copy the letter exactly before they hand it over to Curuvar. Llewellyn obliges.

At Curuvar’s, the old wizard hems and haws over the letter, but finally translates it:

“Kerwig,

“I learned through divination that the totem is in a shop called Garwan’s Curiosities in Loudwater. Go and retrieve it. Use the old barrel of alchemist’s fire.

“You know how important this is. Without the totem, it will be harder to perform the magic. We must get the object back if we are to revive the Ogre King!

“Do not fail. I will continue forward with the magic even if every one of you must be sacrificed. We must get back the totem!

“High Shaman Sancossug”

After handing over the translated letter, the wizard also insists, “By Mystra’s Lost Spell, Sidrynn, you must not pursue this! You are not ready.” He then locks himself in his study.

Naturally ignoring the warning, the Sons of Flame follow the goblins’ tracks through the Southwood. An ill-disguised trail leads through the forest and culminates in a jumble of pale stone ruins. The area is littered with the gnawed bones and visceral remains of various mammals. The trail leads through the mouth of a dwarf’s face carved into one of the still-standing stone walls. Beyond the wall is a wide, grassy courtyard.

Sidrynn is the first to enter the courtyard, naturally sticking to the sides. Llewellyn, on the other hand, barrels right down the middle and the ground suddenly falls away from underneath him. He falls, caught by a well hidden pit trap, and plummets twenty feet before slamming into the ground in a large, torch lit room. The chamber ascends steeply to the west. Goblins stand at the top of the slope, partly obscured by intervening statues of dwarves in armor.

The goblins instantly raise their javelins and throw them, both missing the winded Llewellyn. The rest of the group rushes around the hole up top and climbs down a poorly hidden ladder to come to his aid. As they try to ascend the western slope, two large, hairy goblins charge in to bar their way.

One hard fight later, in which another pit trap is discovered and used to the advantage of the Sons of Flame, they defeat their enemies and are afforded a moment to stop, letting everyone catch their breaths. A door to the north is before them, and the thrill of adventure pulls them forward!

The start of something grand

The year is 1469 by Dale Reckoning, the Year of Splendors Burning. You are all between eight and 10 years old and have grown up together in the town of Loudwater. Your lives so far have not exactly been hard, but they have been just challenging enough to cause you to mature more quickly than others your age who lived more privileged lives. Your little clique is well-known in town as being good-hearted, if occasionally mischievous, and this reputation has gotten you out of one or two major scrapes with the local police.

A couple of weeks after the Spring Equinox, the lot of you are hanging out together in the courtyard between the southern set of apartments near the well, planning out what you will do when Greengrass comes in just under a month. Greengrass is an anual celebration of the first day of Spring where, traditionally, the wealthier people bring out flowers to hand to the less wealthy, who either wear them or throw them on the ground to encourage the deities to usher in the summer. In Loudwater, the holiday is a bit of a to-do, and none of you want to be unprepared for the festivities. Plans are hatched to raid the countryside for flowers.

Suddenly, an armored figure appears before you in a flash of blue flame. He stands no less than seven feet tall and carries a sword half again his height across his back. In his left hand is a shield that covers most of his form which glitters brilliantly in the reflection of the sun. The man lifts his visor with his right hand, revealing dark, pupil-less eyes that sparkle with the light of infinite stars.

You find you have no words to answer this strange figure, and before you are able to gather your thoughts, the armored man continues as though he has heard a response to his words, “Believe me or not, it does not matter.” He seems genuinely saddened at this, but his demeanor bespeaks a man resolved towards a particular course of action. “I have no choice but to answer your challenge, my dear and cherished friend. May my actions be forgiven!”

At this, the figure lowers his visor, draws his sword, and attacks.

Clearly more than a match for you all, the figure’s obvious confusion is the only thing that prevents it from cleaving your young bodies in twain. Your blasts of arcane energies ping against its armor pitifully, as though you were merely throwing pebbles at an elephant. Just as all hope seems lost, you notice the cart in the courtyard is filled with alchemical potions of healing! While this fortunate discovery is enough to prevent you from being slaughtered outright, it is still a frantic battle to keep your assailant occupied and off-balance while praying someone comes to your aid.

As the figure raises its sword high to dispatch the injured Ignis, Curuvar the Brazen rushes onto the scene and shoots a powerful blast of magic at the armored giant. The spell flies true, striking its target full in the back with the weight of a charging hippogriff. It drops to its knees in front of Ignis, now staring him full in the face. The figure lifts his visor once more and gazes into the genasi’s soul.

“Torm,” he says as though in a trance, “I entrust my followers to you. Keep them well, dear friend.” With these last words, he coughs, hacking up blood and splattering it about Ignis’ face and clothing. As the genasi reflexively moves to wipe his eyes, the figure combusts in the same blue flame that brought him before you all earlier. Quickly, you dodge out of the way of the explosion.

Nothing of the combatant is left, and the afternoon air hangs silently for a long moment as the lot of you struggle to comprehend what you have just done.

“We’ve killed a god,” Ignis says in a voice too stunned to be anything other than matter-of-fact.

“You’ve destroyed my potions!” answers Curuvar.
~
Come Greengrass, every door in Loudwater finds itself covered in bright red and orange flowers, casting the illusion the town is burning in the afternoon sun. It is a splendid sight to behold, and no one bothers to discover the culprits.